From the Hearth, a Home
by Caecilliusestinhorto
Summary: Number 4 Privet Drive is burned to the ground. Harry, summering there, is caught in the flames. However, with the tears of a phoenix and the venom of a basilisk running through his veins, death might not be Harry's next great adventure after all.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

A crack, like a gunshot, rang through the night as a dark figure appeared on the pavement that ran between two rows of tract houses. A few doves startled from their perch in a tree at the sound and flew off with a whirring of wings, but otherwise no creature stirred at its appearance. Had any prying eyes turned towards the sound they would have seen nothing but a shadow, for the night was dark and the streetlights granted no substantial glow to light any features it might possess on a face obscured by the heavy cloak it wore.

It moved not a foot from where it had landed, simply standing and observing. The air shimmered around it. A long pale finger reached from inside deep sleeves and touched the disturbance, the contact sending ripples of violent energy surging every which way with enough power to set a nearby cat's hair on end and send the animal scampering away with a pained yowl. The finger was drawn back into the sleeve, smoking faintly.

For a moment the figure seemed to consider its injury, but moments later it moved again to draw a long, pale stick from its sleeve.

" _Peremptorius."_ The words were whispered, no more than a gust of air from concealed lips, but they bore with them a powerful intent. With a whooshing growl, flames in the shape of beasts shot forth from the tip of a bone white wand and went where the figure itself could not. They surged across the lawn of the one of the two story homes in a torrent, and in seconds, they had reached its walls as a mass of twisting and writhing creatures; morphing from the gaping maws of dragons to the growling and spitting heads of chimeras. Around the chimney, a monstrous snake twined once before it descended into the interior with not a brick left in its wake.

The light the malicious flames produced cast eerie shadows on their cloaked summoner, illuminating the bone white mask it wore when the moon and streetlamps could not. Had there been anyone to view the figure on the street below, they would have been presented with the gruesome visage of a skeleton grinning up from below the cowl of the dark hood; where its eyes should be, shadows dwelled instead.

Content that it had completed its business, the arsonist flicked its wrist, sending one final flame in the shape of a massive serpent free, and turned on its heel. With another crack it vanished from the night, but not before it sent a grinning skull and snake to shimmer in the sky above Number Four Privet Drive to mark its task complete.

Inside the house, only a few hours before his fifteenth birthday, Harry Potter lay awake in the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet drive. In sleep, he had been haunted by Cedric's dead eyes glaring at him accusingly, and now, awake, felt stifled by the late July heat wave that had lain over Surrey for the past week and a half. On his desk lay a stack of letters, unsent, addressed to his friends and an empty owl cage.

A sudden pain shot from Harry's scar and down his spine, stinging his nerve endings. With a muffled groan he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to sooth the stabbing pain that throbbed behind his eyes with every beat of his heart. Harry writhed, his muscles spasming with sharp contractions and his ears rang as a deafening roar sounded just outside his window, shattering the glass. Fragments pelted down all around him, each one that pierced his skin was a distinct sting even over the pain he already was suffering from.

He was vaguely aware of screams of pain resonating from down the hall, drawing forth memories of a flash of green and his mother's voice.

 _Voldemort's here,_ he thought dimly as the pain in his skull subsided a bit and he was able to regain some of his thought power. _Dumbledore said he couldn't reach me here, but he's here._

Harry dragged himself from where he lay on the bed and tumbled onto the floor, landing prostrate just as the door, aflame, was blown off of its hinges, all seven padlocks having melted.

There was not time for other coherent thought before a serpent of flame descended upon the boy on the floor. The last sensation he felt consciously was a strange peace as the stinging pain he felt throughout his body was numbed. Where once his veins had been flooded with pain now a sense of warmth filled them, growing hotter and hotter until, with a flash of brilliant white light, the flames consumed him.

The Boy Who Lived, lived no more.

 **Is Harry dead? Perhaps. He certainly is to the wizarding world of Britain, if you catch my gist.**

 _ **Peremptorius**_ **means destructive fire. I thought it fitting for Fiendfyre's incantation because it's one word and rolls nicely off of the tongue**

 **Thank you for reading! I hope this prologue didn't scare you away- it's rather violent for my taste but I felt it was necessary to set the story on the track I want it to take. All of my other stories are on the back burner for now, but this one should be updated rather frequently because I'm taking a creative writing course starting in a few weeks and I personally do most of my writing for fanfictions when I am procrastinating on some other essay or another.**

 **Cheers!**


	2. Out of the Ashes

The first thing that registered in Harry's brain when he regained consciousness was how _cozy_ he was. Never had he felt more content to simply be. For a few minutes he simply lay there, basking in the all encompassing heat and softness of this place and wondering if he was dead. After several minutes had passed Harry realised that his eyes were closed so he opened them, only to blink in irritation when they were filled with a powdery substance that clouded his vision and scratched his cornea when he blinked. He tried to raise an arm to wipe his eyes clear and was alarmed when the limb didn't respond as it should have. In fact, he couldn't feel it at all.

Panicking, Harry tried desperately to wiggle his fingers, or to regain some semblance of feeling in his arm. He writhed, moving a body he did not recognize as his own- its end felt too far away- until his head erupted into clear air.

Harry took a few deep breaths and after several rapid blinks his eyes began to clear, taking in his surroundings warily as they came into focus.

He appeared to be in a large room, in _its fireplace_ to be exact, he noticed dully. Fire crackled merrily on several torches lining the walls on either side of him, and red banners embossed with what looked to be a flame insignia were draped from the golden braziers that held them. The furniture too was a deep red, and elegant in its construct. Most notably, a four poster bed with red and gold drapes took up the majority of the floor space, reminding him sharply of the Gryffindor tower. Had he somehow flooed to Hogwarts? Was this the prefect's room? That would explain why he'd never seen it before, and why he was currently sitting in a fireplace. But something was still off.

 _Why is everything so large?_ Harry frowned, his brow pulling together with less ease than it should've. Come to think of it, he still couldn't feel his arm- perhaps he'd splinched himself somehow? He'd never heard of that happening when flooing, but with his luck anything was possible. " _Maybe that serpent ate it,"_ he thought, recalling the beast of flame that he had thought would be his end.

Harry looked down to try to locate the missing limb and stared dumbly at the silvery expanse of scales that ran from not only where his arm should have been, but _had replaced his whole body._

" _I'm a snake?"_ He wondered aloud, but no human sound left his lips. In fact, he realized that he must not even have proper lips. As if to accentuate this point, a forked tongue flicked out of his mouth to taste the air, causing Harry to gag as much as a snake could when the overwhelming taste and smell of ashes bombarded his senses at the act.

Harry was drawn from his thoughts when, mirroring the sun outside of the window adjacent to the bed where he lay, a boy awoke and rolled from beneath his covers to land on the floor. Harry recoiled sharply, thinking for sure that he'd been spotted. He held still, resigning himself to inevitably be accosted. Shit, he'd see the snake in his fireplace and think it was a Slytherin spy! The color of his scales alone would be enough to indicate to the suspicious mind that he was affiliated with their rival house. Would he be killed?

But when no attack came after nearly a minute, Harry slowly sank down until only his eyes and the tip of his nose peeked from the cover of the still warm ashes he lay coiled in. It occurred to him then that last he'd checked, it had still been mid summer. So either he had been transported through time, or… somehow, he wasn't in Hogwarts at all.

The boy was moving about the room, setting up candles, and now that Harry's persecution no longer seemed imminent he took the time to observe him. His eyesight was astonishingly good, even in the low light of the bedroom, and amidst the erratic flickering of the candles light he was able to make out the boy's features.

His skin was pale, a sharp contrast to the dark head of hair that hung like a curtain around his face and in some places stuck to his sweaty forehead. He looked to be about 13, although Harry could not be certain, for he had only a little baby fat remaining on his cheeks to soften his otherwise sharp features. Most strikingly, his eyes burned a fearsome gold.

As Harry watched, the boy finished setting up an array of candles and dropped into a seated position among them. Closing his eyes, he began breathing and gradually, the small flames began to rise and fall in time with his breathes. Even the candles in the braziers on the wall participated in this behavior. Harry was intrigued, associating the lotus position the boy had taken with something he had read in The History of Magic. He wished he had payed closer attention to what exactly had been in the chapter on eastern spiritual practices; something about chakras was all he could recall. Hermione would certainly know more, and it was with a sharp pang that he realized he would likely be unable to communicate with his friends again, stuck as he was in the body of a snake in a potentially foreign land.

.

.

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The next few days were spent similarly, with the boy rising at dawn to meditate with his candles. Harry remained in the ashes of his fireplace, watching him until he left at which point he would usually curl up under the charred log that had remained so far untouched at the back of the hearth and go to sleep. It was hard to stay awake for long when he was alone, for the emptiness of the room only served to remind Harry of how much he missed his friends. When the boy was there, and especially when he was asleep, Harry could pretend that he was back in the Gryffindor dorms.

Harry supposed that he could explore the room while the boy was away, but so far he had felt reluctant to leave the fireplace. At first, he'd attributed his lack of a sense of adventure to his common sense finally winning out over his bull headed tendencies, but later, after much introspection, he realized that in fact his snake instincts were the primary culprit for the unadventurous turn his personality had taken. Inspired by the boy, he had taken to meditating which as a snake meant he curled up into a ball, closed his eyes, and drew his attention inwards. It was much harder said than done. Harry's new senses were incredibly sharp, especially his sense of smell. It was a bit disorienting at first to try to draw his attention inwards when although his eyes were closed, he was still able to 'see' the room through his tongue, which was in the habit of escaping from his mouth of its own volition. If a mouse so much as poked its head out of a hole down the hall his entire focus would be thrown off, as had happened on one notable occasion.

Gradually, his attempts at meditation had paid off and by visiting his central focus he was granted a good deal of insight into his new predicament, enough so that he had hopes that one day he might regain his human body. His transformation could be linked to that of an animagus, he supposed. Perhaps if he communed enough with his human side, he could regain that form. It was nothing short of a longshot, but it would be worth it if he were to succeed.

As it was, Harry had learned a good deal about his snake self. He had deduced early on that he was an ashwinder, which explained his reluctance to leave the hearth he had been 'born' from. For now, he was content to do as his instincts urged. At about a foot in length, he was hardly a formidable presence, and knowing as little as he did about his new environment he was less inclined to subject himself to unnecessary danger than he had been at Hogwarts. So far his luck had prevented anything from meddling with his hiding place, but he didn't trust it to hold out.

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.

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On the fourth day of Harry's stay inside the fireplace, a maid bustled into the room with the intent to tidy.

Harry watched the woman cautiously as she bustled about the room, tucking in the corners of the silk sheets that covered the boy's bed and throwing the clothes that he had strewn about the floor into a basket which she carried over her shoulder. Harry was impressed at the fervor she displayed, and more so when she held her ground against the boy himself when he returned to the room.

He had learned that the boy, although generally quiet, could be quite moody, especially when one of his sister's barbs had sunk under his skin. Harry coiled his body unhappily at the memory of the girl on the one occasion where she had visited her brother's rooms. The boy had been practicing a series of steps and kicks that somehow, to Harry's awe, resulted in short bursts of flame erupting from his feet and at times, his closed fists. It was clear that she disdained her brother, for she had taunted him shamelessly about his form for several minutes before turning on her heel and leaving the boy to take out his hurt on his possessions.

"What are you doing in here?" The boy demanded, throwing his door open wide. The maid flinched, and dropped into a low bow.

"Prince Zuko, your room needs cleaning." She explained patiently after rising. Harry was hardly surprised to learn the boy was a prince; his room was certainly furnished richly enough. His name, however, was nice to finally know.

"I can clean it myself. Get out!" The boy, Zuko, snapped.

Harry watched the exchange intently. Although he had seldom seen the boy interact with people in the short time he had spent in his fireplace, he had thought that outside of his sister, the boy would treat others with more kindness. He was moody, sure, but he hadn't struck Harry as a mean guy. Perhaps it was a class thing? Harry certainly remembered the way Draco and some other purebloods looked down on those they viewed as being below them. Would Zuko have similar views? Harry narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he would have to rethink his evaluation of the prince.

"Your father would not be happy." The woman warned.

Zuko flinched. Clearly she had struck a nerve, and for the first time harry wondered what the prince's' relationship with his father maid finished cleaning and hefted the basket of clothes off down the hall. Once she was gone, Zuko sagged onto his bed and Harry noticed how haggard he look. He flicked his tongue out and recoiled at the acrid stench of distress Zuko was putting out, concerned. What could have happened to upset him so much?

With a strangled shout Zuko heaved off of the bed and punched the wall directly next to the fireplace. The pain of the impact seemed to send him over the edge for he sagged bonelessly against the stone and slid limply to the floor, silent sobs racking his shoulders when he buried his face into his knees. Only feet away, Harry hissed softly in alarm. He had never been good at comforting people, and as a snake that Zuko didn't even know existed there was even less he could do. So he resigned, unhappily, to watching the prince suffer alone.

It was a relief then when the door opened a few minutes later to admit an older man with an impressive beard and an even more impressive belly who seemed to bear the intent to dispel Zuko's anxiety. He settled himself down across from the boy and simply observed his shaking shoulders for a while, before offering a few words of consolation.

"The brave leader is not one who speaks when he is permitted, but he who speaks when no one else will. My brother held his tongue and while you will be punished for insubordination, I see no bravery in his actions."

Zuko's golden eyes were tinged red when they snapped up to meet the old man's amber gaze, searchingly.

"Uncle? What are you doing here?" He gasped, then blinked. "Your words are dangerously close to treason."

"Perhaps they should be heard differently, then."

Harry was oddly reminded of Dumbledore in the way the older man's eyes brightened, although they did not twinkle. He flicked his tongue out to taste Zuko's uncle's scent, instantly regretting the movement when the older man, who tasted of tea and fire, turned his amber eyes upon the hearth. Harry froze, pinned beneath his gaze. Zuko his uncle's sight to where Harry was coiled and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"It seems you have a visitor, Zuko."

Slowly, so as not to seem threatening Harry pulled his head down towards the ashes, knowing that should either male choose to grab for him he would not be able to escape. Zuko reached out a hesitant hand, his eyes wide and full of wonder.

"I won't hurt you." He promised, and Harry tasted the truth in his words when his traitorous tongue flicked out again. His dormant Gryffindor impulsiveness resurfacing, he did not shy from the hand that lifted from his nest of ashes, and once airborne he wrapped his coils tightly around Zuko's wrist. The heat radiating from the prince was more than enough to replace the small amount still harbored by the ashes even after all these days. Harry held himself still as golden and amber eyes swept over him.

"I've never seen a snake like this before," Zuko marveled, bringing his arm closer to his face. Harry wondered if he had ever handled a snake before, as it didn't seem wise to bring one so close to an area of his body that practically screamed, "bite me!" Although, to be fair, Harry hadn't bitten the hand that had reached out to grab him so perhaps the prince assumed that he was safe. "Do you know what kind of snake it is?" The prince asked.

Zuko's uncle considered Harry. "I have my suspicions, although I have never seen one before. Ancient legend tells of a winged serpent, a cousin of the dragons that is born from the ashes of eternal flame. That one would end up in your fireplace is… astonishing." Then, cheerfully he added, "But your snake has no wings, so surely it can't be that!" Zuko, who's face had taken on an awed expression, looked crestfallen. His uncle chortled. "But perhaps it's just a baby? Either way, prince Zuko, it's in your care now."

With that, the older man stood and walked slowly from the room, leaving Zuko and Harry alone. "What should I name you?" the prince wondered.

Harry sighed and coiled tighter around the prince's arm, reluctant to leave its heat. " _What are the chances that you'll choose Harry?"_ He hissed. Oh, the irony.

 **You may have guessed it- Zuko's about to be banished. And guess who's going along for the ride? Harry may seem overly trusting of Zuko, but keep in mind that he's had four days to observe his behavior and get a taste of his character. By resigning to stay with him, Harry is showing a little more of his traditional Gryffindor impulse decision making. I hope this was believable! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! I hope I haven't scared you away with this chapter.**

 **Cheers!**


	3. Banished

Ch. 3

Banished

Zuko entered the courtyard with apprehension, yet he couldn't bring himself to regret the action that had brought him here in the first place. As he walked towards the pavilion where the Agni Kai would be held, he held his breathing steady as he had been practicing in his early meditations. There was no point in losing his calm to the nerves that itched in the back of his mind where they had been trapped trapped barriers constructed from the accumulation of unyielding thoughts that he had spent hours each morning adding to.

There was already a crowd gathered when he arrived, but the old general he had insulted had not yet appeared. Zuko hesitated in the entry way for a few moments. The crowd continued to grow as he watched, and he saw Azula sit down beside Iroh. His father had yet to appear. Deep down, a part of Zuko wondered what would happen if he lost. Would Ozai be furious? Or worse, would he not even care?

A pang shot through the young prince's heart and he violently shoved the emotion away. Of course his father would care. He would beat the general, and Ozai would be proud of him. Maybe even as proud of him as he was of Azula. Zuko's lip turned up in a slight smile at the thought. Maybe his father would even invite him to future war councils, and he could take the place of the general.

At the sound of a gong, Zuko walked to take his place at the far side of the stage. With his back turned to his opponent, he hardened his expression into one of firm resolve and dropped into a low crouch. He had meant what he said. He was not afraid to face the general, and he would leave this Agni Kai as the victor. When the gong rang again, Zuko rose to his feet and turned to face his opponent.

It took only a second to register what was wrong with the picture he saw. It felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. A cold sweat broke out across his brow, although the afternoon was far from cool, and the will to fight left his limbs. Where once adrenaline had coursed through his veins now it seemed liquid ice flowed. Zuko couldn't move. He couldn't- wouldn't- fight his father.

When Ozai strode towards him, Zuko stood his ground, desperately trying to figure out of this mess. He knew he didn't stand a chance against the fire lord. "Please, Father, I only had the Fire Nation's best interest at heart! I'm sorry I spoke out of turn." Zuko begged, praying his father would show mercy.

Ozai, however, would not back down. He was a cruel man, and he resented his son for the weakness he showed. A prince of the Fire Nation should face his adversaries, not try to cower and gain their mercy. It was disgraceful. "You will fight for your honor," he growled, clenching his fists as he advanced on Zuko.

Zuko dropped to his knees in a low bow. "I meant you no disrespect- I am your loyal son!" He pleaded desperately.

"You will rise and fight, prince Zuko." Ozai stood before him now.

"I won't fight you." Zuko steeled his last nerve and met his father's eyes, hoping that the man would relent. He knew it was true. He loved his father, and while he knew that Ozai didn't love him as he did Azula, a small part of him refused to let go of the hope that one day he might be loved equally so.

"You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher." In that instant, Zuko's heart sank. He knew he had messed up by refusing to fight his father, but he had hoped the man would see where he was coming from. It seemed, however, that Fire Lord Ozai was more concerned with keeping up his appearance than he was with forgiving his family.

When the hand descended towards his face, Zuko expected a slap. He resigned himself to the imminent pain, and gritting his teeth, promised that he would not give Ozai the pleasure of hearing him scream. However, his resolve failed as soon as the flaming hand came into contact with his eye and was held there- _oh Agni it hurts!_

A scream tore itself from his throat, and the smell of burning flesh was suffocating. Zuko thought he might have thrown up, had he been able to. Instead, he fell to the ground in a numb horror, barely registering it when his father walked away, or when Iroh kneeled beside him and pulled him up into his arms.

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Harry was startled awake when the door to Zuko's chambers was thrown open and a slough of people streamed in. He had been dozing on the edge of the hearth, warmed by the fire that crackled merrily inside and dove for cover among the flames before he had registered his body's movement.

For a moment he panicked, the smell of burning flesh seemed to sear his tongue and he thrashed desperately to escape the flames, but when it registered in his mind that he didn't actually feel like he was burning and in fact the fire around him was a pleasant warmth, Harry settled down and took the time to take in the commotion that now surrounded Zuko's bed.

Flicking his tongue out, Harry was almost instantly bombarded again with the stench of burned flesh. For now that he no longer was no longer blinded by panic his tongue picked up the distinction between the smells. Instinctively, he knew that first, it was not him who was burned (although in part that could be attributed to the fact that he didn't feel any pain) and second, he could tell that Zuko was the one afflicted. He was no longer burning, that much was clear to Harry even without the use of his sense of smell which, he belatedly realised had become his most dominant sense ever since he'd become a snake. But the damage was extensive, and he could only wonder what had happened.

Harry watched on as Zuko's uncle went about ordering a team of three people to hold the prince down on his bed. At first, Harry wondered why Zuko needed to be held down in the first place- the boy was unconscious for crying out loud- but he was quickly enlightened as to why when a woman carrying a pot of something that smelled absolutely dreadful entered the room and went to work spreading a paste of some thick brown goop that would have made Madame Pomfrey green with envy on the left side of the prince's face. Instantly, the boy awoke and began thrashing. The holders clenched their jaws and held on tight to flailing limbs, and Harry was ready to admit that Zuko could put up a hell of a fight when his uncle was forced to grab onto one of his legs when it broke free from the burly man who had been tasked with both legs' hold.

The woman finished her task quickly and went about wrapping Zuko's face in gauze before giving the boy what was apparently a sedative judging by the way he gave up struggling and fell limply to the bed. As she left, taking the three holders with her, Harry had to wonder why she hadn't just given the prince the sedative in the first place. Surely it would have saved them all from bodily harm? He wasn't sure if anyone had left unscathed- the prince had proven that he could be vicious.

Now, with only the prince's uncle left in the room, Harry slithered out of the flames to get a closer look. Still a bit ungainly in his new body, it took him several attempts before he managed to properly twine himself around one of the bedposts so that he could leverage himself up it and onto the bed. The old man noticed him at this point, but made no move to stop him and only watched in curiosity as he made for Zuko's prone form.

Only, Harry noticed in irritation, He wasn't getting any closer to the prince despite all the wiggling his snake body was doing. He hissed in irritation. The damned silk sheets were preventing him from creating the friction necessary for proper movement! The prince's uncle watched with fascination and then humor as he was unable to move, and Harry was certain that if Zuko hadn't been so wounded, he would have laughed out loud. For this, Harry spared him the death glare he self righteously thought the man deserved for finding humor in his struggles.

When the infuriating older man took pity on him and lifted him to lie on Zuko's chest, Harry had half the mind to bite him out of sheer mortification. Begrudgingly, he coiled up, surprised at how much heat was emanating from the prince. Did he have a fever? Harry tasted Zuko's scent. He didn't smell of sickness- just of burnt flesh, the herbs the healer had used and pain. Maybe he was naturally super-heated as a side effect of his fire bending? In the few days he had spent in Zuko's room, Harry had picked up a few pieces here and there about firebenders, and knew now that that was what this world (for he was quite certain at this point that he had left his own) called the ability to summon and control fire on command. If he were to guess, he'd say that it was likely that there were people who could bend the other elements in similar ways.

One thing that had stood out in the passing conversations he'd overheard was that fire bender's fire came from their stomachs, which would explain why it felt like Zuko was burning up. If it was nothing to be worried about, he decided he could afford to absorb the excess heat the prince produced without feeling too guilty about it. While the fire was a pleasant warmth, being surrounded by flames was not quite as cozy as lying on a furnace that felt as though it was fueled by the very sun.

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Seated in a chair adjacent to the bed, Iroh watched with curiosity as the snake he and his nephew had found earlier that afternoon seemed to content itself by coiling up on the unconscious boy's chest. Zuko had often displayed a soft spot for animals, and it had been a delight to see the way the prince's eyes lit up with wonder upon finding the snake in his fireplace.

Iroh's amber eyes darkened. He hated to see what had become of his family, and that his brother would treat his own son this way only served to fuel his anger. _My brother is a fool to not see he has lost. It is a shame that Ursa is no longer here- I fear what will become of the prince now if he should stay, although I don't for a second doubt that man's conviction to see him banished_. He thought sadly. _Zuko deserves better than he can offer, though I fear for when he learns of his banishment and terms of redemption. The avatar has not been seen in a hundred years- surely his mind will recognize the true meaning of his task, even if his heart does not. Ozai, brother, you are cruel indeed._

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 **Well, that's all for now folks. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter- it was rather brief, and for that I apologize. I tried not to rush it, and then later tried to expand it, but I wrote the majority of it while my dog lay dying beside me so it has been bittersweet to come back to in order to finish. The conversation between Ozai and Zuko is taken directly from the cartoon, but the rest of the dialogue is my own.**

 **There won't be a romance in this story, as Zuko and Harry's relationship will be a bromance of sorts leaning towards brotherly and Harry will adopt Iroh as an uncle or father figure.**

 **Thank you for reading, and especially to those who have favorited and followed this story. Please leave a review!**


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